


A Sweet Story

by AnyaYanko



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-13
Updated: 2020-09-13
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:48:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,849
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26446609
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnyaYanko/pseuds/AnyaYanko
Summary: Harry was adopted by a couple that owns a bakery and wants to become a magical cook.Not really a full story, just a little experiment. Written as a thank you gift for my subscribers on The Phoenix Burns Brightest. Requested by ZanderFrae.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 14





	A Sweet Story

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ZanderFrae](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZanderFrae/gifts).



> I didn’t really know what to do with this prompt, but I gave it a go. More of a fleshing out of the intro than anything else.

Mr. and Mrs. Miller were a very lucky couple. The sort of people that good things happened to. The sort of people whose wishes always come true. 

They had met on the very first day of culinary school and instantly fell in love. They got married right after graduation and set up their own bakery on the outskirts of London. They made all sorts of delicious bread and pastries and muffins and cakes and their little bakery was a great success.

Most people would have said that the had everything, but there was one thing that was missing from their life. They both wanted a child and were unable to have one. Alice Miller sighed whenever a mother pushed a pram into the bakery, and bent low over the counter to coo at the infant. 

When things were quiet, she made babies out of dough. Little baby biscuits with chocolate chip eyes and plump baby-shaped cakes with pink frosting. Lucas Miller felt sad whenever he saw them come out of the oven, golden-brown and ready to eat. They sold well, but they never sold out because Alice was always making more, and they had to throw out tray-loads at the end of each day. 

‘Why don’t we adopt?’ Lucas suggested. ‘There’s plenty of poor, unwanted little children out there.’

There were plenty of hopeful would-be parents too, though. Their names went down at the bottom of the list and they waited and waited. Days passed, then weeks, then months, then years. Alice continued to bake baby biscuits every day and Lucas continued to throw them out once they went stale. 

Their hope burning out, in much the same way. 

**

One evening, Lucas was shutting up the bakery and found a rather large tabby cat sat on his doorstep. It turned to stare at him with its large bright eyes and watched as he locked up. Something about his gaze unsettled him. It was strangely ... intelligent, as if the creature knew exactly who he was and what he was doing. 

‘That cat’s been out there all day,’ Alice said, when he mentioned it to her. ‘In that exact spot. I’ve never seen a cat stay still for so long.’ 

‘Does it belong to someone round here?’ 

‘I didn’t see a collar. Must be a stray.’ 

Lucas hummed, uncertainly. He had an eye for details and often noticed things that other people missed. 

‘Too clean to be a stray. Looks freshly-groomed. Never been through a bin, that’s for sure.’ 

‘A good thing too! I don’t want any cats going through our bins.’

**

Outside, the cat shivered and narrowed its eyes. It did not move, even when all the lights on the street started to go out. It sat still, patiently waiting, until a tall man in purple came to a halt in front of him. It was a very odd old man indeed, with several feet of white hair and beard and a pair of glittering half-moon spectacles.   
  


His name was Professor Albus Dumbledore and he was a wizard. 

‘Good Evening, Professor McGonagall,’ he said to the cat. 

The cat blinked and a second later it was gone and a frowning woman stood in its place. 

‘It’s about time, Dumbledore,’ she grumbled. ‘I’ve been waiting here all day. Have you got him?’ 

Professor Dumbledore smiled and reached into his robes. There were very long and billowing but it still a surprise when he pulled out a long-limbed one-year-old in pyjamas. He was sound asleep, despite his position, his little mouth hanging open. One tiny white tooth glistening like a pearl in an oyster. 

Professor McGonagall leant in, holding her breath. ‘Doesn’t he look like - ?’

‘Yes, I know.’ Dumbledore stroked the baby’s cheek. ‘He’s a lovely little thing. Fell asleep as soon as I began carrying him. Just cuddled up in my beard and drifted off.’ 

They both gazed down at the child in silence for a few moments. 

‘And you’re sure about leaving him here?’ McGonagall asked. ‘With these muggles?’

‘Yes,’ Dumbledore replied. ‘They are good people. He’ll be safe here.’ 

‘Doesn’t he have any other relatives?’ McGonagall asked. 

‘Alas, no. As you know, both grandparents are gone. Lily did have a sister ... she would have been the perfect choice but she and her husband perished in a car crash two years ago. A terrible tragedy. Now, Harry is all alone in the world.’ 

He handed the baby to Professor McGonagall who took him uncertainly. Then he reached into his robes again and pulled out a large whicker basket and baby blanket. Bending down, he deposited them on the doorstep. 

‘Surely you’re not just going to leave him there for them to find?’ 

‘I’ve written them a letter,’ Dumbledore replied, brandishing it proudly. 

‘A letter!’ McGongall repeated doubtfully. ‘Have you got anything else hidden away under that cloak? A teddy bear perhaps? Or a music box? A changing table?’

‘Oh, no. You know I like to travel light.’

Dumbledore wrapped Harry up in the blanket and tucked both him and the letter up in the little basket. Harry stirred, eyelids fluttering, and then fell back into his deep sleep. 

‘Farewell, little one. May you grow up healthy and happy. We’ll see you again in ten years time ...’

**

Harry Miller was a very lucky little boy. He had two loving parents, a large bedroom full of toys, a pet dog and all the free cake he could stomach. He was also lucky for another reason, for he was secretly a wizard! His parents had explained this to him when he was five years old and accidentally set a tray of gingerbread men dancing. 

His birth parents had both been powerful sorcerers but they had been killed, while Harry was still a baby, by an evil wizard. His adopted parents, Mr. and Mrs. Miller couldn’t do any magic at all but they were brilliant bakers and taught him how to make all sorts of delicious food. 

A couple of weeks before Harry’s eleventh birthday, a letter arrived confirming his place at _Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry._ Harry could hardly contain his excitement, especially when his parents took him to a hidden part of London to buy his supplies. 

‘You won’t be too homesick?’ his mother fretted. ‘I would have never sent you to boarding school if it was a choice ...’ 

‘I’ll come home during the holidays,’ Harry assured her, ‘and write every day.’ 

‘Yes, I know.’ She hugged him. ‘We shall have to get you a nice, strong owl. That’s how they send letters, you know. Owl Post.’ 

**

Harry arrived at school armed with dozens of spell-books, parchment and quills, ready to learn. He quickly discovered that magic was not as simple as just waving a wand and mumbling a few strange words. It was hard work and he struggled in all his classes. Potions was by far his best subject, although its teacher was the most severe. 

Professor Snape had taken an instant dislike to Harry, curling his lips when he came across his name in the register. 

‘Miller?’ He repeated with a sneer. ‘Or is it ... Potter?’ There was a murmuring through the class. Harry had blushed. He had already learned that he was famous for surviving the curse that killed his parents. 

‘I prefer Miller, Sir,’ he said timidly. 

‘Yes, I do too,’ Snape replied grimly. 

Harry knew how to measure ingredients exactly and mix them thoroughly. He understood the science of cooking. How even a pinch of salt or a couple of grains of spice could change the flavour of something completely. So he followed the Potion Master’s instructions exactly and by the end of the lesson he was the only one who produced a working potion. 

Snape glanced over his work coldly and gave the slightest nodd. That was, he understood, the closest the man ever came to praise. 

**

At the end of the year he gave the headmaster a bag of home-made biscuits, as a thank you for all his help and kindness. Professor Dumbledore was delighted with treats which were cut into little stars, owls and wooly socks. 

‘However did you bake these?’ He asked. 

‘In the Gryffindor fire,’ Harry told him. ‘Hermione transfigured a box into a stone stove.’ 

‘Ingenious! But I wonder if you might fare better in the school kitchen? If you would like to continue baking in your free time.’ 

He explained how to get into the kitchens and told Harry to go there as often as he pleased the following year. 

‘It is a shame,’ he said sadly, ‘that more hobbies aren’t supported at Hogwarts. There was a time when I suggested Magical Cooking classes but the board felt that was something students should learn at home.’ 

**

The house-elves, usually so accommodating, we’re not pleased to have a student barging into their kitchen and snatching up their pots and pans. They begged him to sit down, let them serve him, and Harry had to keep explaining that he wanted to cook himself. 

Eventually they begrudgingly let him use the oven and watched sulkily as he rolled out dough and chopped up apples. 

‘You’ll be needing cinnamon,’ said one, slamming the bottle down. ‘And sugar.’ Her tone was aggressive but it became more pleasant when Harry thanked her and asked humbly if there was anything else she would suggest. 

‘Thank you so much for your help. You’re wonderful.’

They all began to soften then. Showed him all their little tricks and twists, how they used magic to measure out the ingredients and turn them from powder to liquid, or the other way around. 

‘That’s so good,’ Harry said, tasting the finished apple pie. 

The house-elves beamed proudly. 

‘Could you perhaps show me how you make some other dishes? I only really know baking and I’d love to make that beef casserole you do.’

They obliged eagerly. His conquest complete. 

**

‘What sort of thing do you wanna do when you leave Hogwarts?’ Ron asked. ‘I’d like a really cool job, but I expect I’ll just end up working for the Ministry like my dad. Perhaps I can get into a more interesting department, though. Like Magical Sports.’

Harry smiled. ‘I want to be a cook.’ 

‘A cook?!’ Ron repeated. ‘That’s not a job.’ 

‘Of course it is!’ Harry replied irritably. ‘Haven’t you ever heard of a restaurant?’ 

‘Well, I s’pose,’ Ron mumbled. ‘There aren’t many wizard restaurants though. I mean, if you want food you can make it at home or get it from muggles.’ 

‘There’s plenty of things that taste better with magic,’ Harry said. ‘And what about the pubs? And the sweet shops? And Florian Fortesque’s Ice Cream shop? I want to own a place like that with really extraordinary food.’

Ron thought for a moment. ‘I s’pose that’d be cool. Would you give me free samples?’ 

‘Yeah!’ Harry laughed. ‘You can eat all you want for free.’ 

‘I kinda thought you’d want to be an Auror.k 

‘A what?’ 

‘A dark wizard catcher.’ 

‘Oh no. I’d never want to be an Auror. No, I’m going to open a restaurant.’ 


End file.
